Frayed
by Gravity
Summary: The coffeemaker signaled its completion. Lightning struck outside. And their seams were frayed beyond repair.  Lightning/Snow


I had been itching to write this one for awhile. This seems to be a common topic, so I hope you will enjoy this take on it!

**Frayed**

**

* * *

**

He was standing outside of her front door, his large figure turned away from the entrance, the ends of his coat dancing lightly with the winds that accompanied the heavy rain. He never did look her in the eye when he was outside her door, whether he arrived by himself or with his wife, and it bothered her sometimes. She had guessed that it was one of the frayed seams to their relationship.

For it certainly was one of many.

* * *

She hated him at first, the gargantuan thug who swept her sweet sister off of her feet. His mannerisms irked her, his train of thought was worse, and he took the only meaningful person left in her life away from her. Serah would be away from home for longer periods of time, and when she was here, conversation would be centered on him. She wondered sometimes if this was payback for all the time she was away for training, but her sister seemed to genuinely be infatuated with him.

This thought had upset her.

Serah had tried so hard to paint him in a better light, only to grow frustrated when she refused to consider him anything but a dark menace. How could she think otherwise, when she saw that her sister was spending less time with her in favor of a passing fancy – at least she hoped – and knew that the time could not be taken back once Serah left for Eden. Those threads were fraying away, ripped by a thoughtless, unemployed giant.

And when Serah was taken away, her resentment exploded.

* * *

Their routine was precise. She wouldn't say a word as she opened the door a little further, the squeak it caused serving as an indication to enter. She would depart back to the kitchen in order to turn on her coffeemaker, and then began to fiddle about her cabinetry for mugs. He would be in the common space by then, neatly discarding his shoes and any unnecessary outerwear aside before settling in. He would sometimes turn on the television. Other times, he would glance at the daily newspaper that she wouldn't throw away until the next morning. He would hum. He would whistle. Sometimes he didn't make any noise.

All were an indication of the severity of recent arguments with his wife.

He never encroached upon her when she was in the kitchen, waiting for her to arrive with two mugs of coffee before speaking. She put a spoonful of sugar in hers. He took his without accompaniment, unless the argument had been really bad. Then he'd take his coffee with alcohol.

She would sit on the right side of her loveseat so that the coffee could rest on a nearby stand. He would overfill the armchair and begin to talk. How Serah was feeling restless, how anxious she was in going to college soon, how far away she would be from him, how her nightmares never seemed to go away, how she would be treated, why was there never enough money, why didn't he seemed more concerned, why did he seem so distracted lately, how and why this, how and why that.

Their fairytale ending was dissolving under the realities of marital spats.

She would listen without saying a word. She had heard all of this before from Serah, using this knowledge to construct the problem using the different facets she had been presented with. When he was finished, she'd offer suggestions, simple patches to the problem.

She only offered this help to him. Serah would certainly ask for advice, but all she would say is to wait it out, that this wasn't as bad as what transpired a long time ago, to be patient. The practical advice went to him.

They would sit quietly for a long time, but the silence was never under-utilized. They were both seasoned warriors: they were reading each other's movements.

And depending on what they had gauged from the other, they would act. Sometimes, he would murmur a thank you before finishing his coffee and heading out. Other times, he'd stay a little longer to watch television. But most of the time, they would meet each other, accommodating the other, whether on her loveseat or his armchair or in the middle of the common space.

Two objects were seamed together in the practice of infidelity.

As she opened the door wider, letting a little bit of wind and rain come into her home in the process, she wondered what would happen tonight.

* * *

Her anger at him had gradually chipped away during the duration of their journey. It was intriguing to her, in a way, how an epic struggle such as theirs would reveal the nature of a person in the same way as less serious, more frequent bumps in the road. And while both were undesirable, it was easier to accept a person and their troubles with the understanding that team cohesion was needed to succeed in their worldly challenge. This was harder to do for the smaller tiffs, exemplified in her constant disapproval of her sister's relationship with him before all of this had occurred.

She would think about this and smile wryly. For how much she has come to understand and accept him, she would rather have the silly problem of approving a boyfriend than to potentially never see her sister again.

With hate no longer blinding her thoughts of him, they had grown to be steady companions. When she went to scout, he'd come as backup. When she was taking on a particularly tough enemy, he'd deflect its viciousness onto him. When it was her turn to take the night watch, he would voluntarily stay up with her. She had mostly believed he did all of these things as a responsible teammate who cared about her well being so she could be at her strongest for the final battle, but the woman within suspected much deeper reasoning. He would support this theory with glances that were longer than necessary, touches that seemed to suggest more. But he was so dedicated to Serah, she would often berate herself for thinking too much off of what could have been nothing.

And then he made a comment one day, off-handedly, after she had made an impressive kill. How different the sisters were, in looks, mannerisms, in strength. She had inquired what he meant by strength. It took a bit before he finally replied,

"You both have the same _magnitude_ of strength. But the _direction_ it's taken in… it's different."

She had been baffled, not knowing how to take such a cryptic comment from such a blunt man. Sensing her confusion, he turned to her, a small smile of amusement on his thin lips.

She'd like to associate her newfound intrigue with him with this moment, strengthening the patchwork they had woven for the purpose of team unity.

* * *

Their lovemaking had one constant variable to it: intensity. She felt uncomfortably warmed by his actions, like being thrust into the nearness of a fire after having been in the cold for so long – so close to burning and never knowing when it would happen. His body was encompassing. His hands were dominant. His lips found constant vigil on her body. His breath made her stomach pool with heat. His words made her shiver. His movements made her scream.

She tried to do the same to him as he did to her, and found pride when he succumbed to the same pleasure as she. It became a game to play – who could submit to the other – and they played it on any surface.

After the heat had subsided, she would think about the reality of the situation. The damsel in distress and the knight in shining armor were constantly fighting and he had come to her for comfort: strike one. She ends up in the arms of her sister's husband: strike two. She was betraying her only family: strike three. This was all wrong: strike out.

In her more cynical moments, she wondered why this man wasn't her husband instead, why she couldn't find a man that would go through what he did to bring back his love. In that long, terrible journey, she had grown to admire him, respect him, and secretly, hope for the day she'll be able to love someone like him.

She didn't expect that that person would actually be _him_.

She wondered what he thought about the whole thing, as they never breached that conversation. Maybe he was disgusted with her. Maybe he was at himself. Maybe he felt hate for his situation with Serah to make it come to this. Maybe he really wanted to be with her.

She felt sick. Only a lovesick fool would classify infidelity as a way for a man to actually be in love with his sister-in-law and not his wife.

He sometimes complained of bedroom activities with Serah, problems that her sister has shared with her as well. She found the confessions uncomfortable, but then wondered how their lovemaking sessions went. She wondered if they shared the same intensity, what Serah did differently than her, what he did differently. Did he stroke her hair in the same manner, tug at her thighs in the same manner, taste her neck in the same manner? Did he prefer Serah's naked navel to her pierced one? Did he like a soft and pliable body to a hardened, sinewy one? Perhaps Serah was not happy because he approached her differently. Perhaps Serah didn't appreciate it. She wondered if he simply enjoyed the company of two different women, but then fell into shame. He wasn't like that.

After all, if Serah and herself were vectors with the same magnitude and completely opposite directions, they would cancel each other out, leaving a troubled man with the seams ripped away.

* * *

The wedding ceremony was hastily thrown together, just days after everything had ended. They both were so happy about their reunion and so worried about losing each other again that everyone went out of their way to make the union happen as soon as possible.

Serah was wearing their mother's white summer dress that they had managed to find when they made it back to their Bodhum home. She smiled at the thought – their house had been taken over by Sanctum during the journey and seeing Serah's dismay, the groom-to-be had brought hell on those who were currently controlling it. They got their house back quickly after that.

She had perched a red rose with baby's breath behind Serah's ear, the red symbolizing love and the white, purity. She wondered if she would bear this honor in her lifetime, but if anyone had to, it should be her beautiful Serah, radiant even if she was pacing about the area in nervous anticipation.

Believing the groom to be experiencing similar anxiety, she had visited his waiting area to offer encouragement as a good friend and soon to be sister-in-law. He had looked surprisingly handsome in the simple, clean-cut clothes that he wore beneath his trench, which was absent for the ceremony. His usual black bandana was also gone, and she could see every detail of his kind face. When he spotted her, he offered a nervous, gentle smile.

Throughout the journey, she had been feeling small amounts of jealousy towards her sister for having the love of this man, but always cast it aside with wry humor. It came back to her in this instant, strong and lingering.

But damn if her sister didn't deserve this more.

So she had mustered a smile, and gave him the same offer she had told Serah: she would help them if they so needed it. Her door was always open.

He looked startled, curious almost, and then he winked at her. She had departed quickly from the area under the guise of the soon to be starting ceremony, but if his chuckle was any indication, he had seen her blush.

The wedding was beautiful. For all the happy couple had been through, the marriage should turn out perfectly. She can move on with her life to do something else besides wondering about what ifs. Or so she thought, when one warm night, a month after the ceremony, he was on her doorstep by himself. He never showed up at her house without Serah.

Startled, she had silently invited him in, offered coffee as he shed his shoes and coat. He asked for the coffee, black.

He had been silent for a long time, staring at a photo resting on the stand next to the loveseat. It was a picture of Serah and herself, after she had completed Guardian Corps training. Serah looked uneasy. She looked distracted.

She was starting to get up from her seat to refill her mug when he finally spoke. They had a fight. They never had a fight before. He didn't know what to do with her. So he went to the sister for insight.

She tried her best to reason the problem out analytically, but had grown distracted once she took in his demeanor. He looked tired. His radiance that he displayed during their journey was gone. There was no life or death situation surrounding them to bring out the heroes in them. It was complicated marital spats now. She wondered if he questioned whether it was worth fighting for.

She hated the image, so she went to his seated form and hugged him.

His soft hair tickled her arms. The scent of oil surrounded him and she thought it wonderful. A moment passed and soon his arms embraced her form, his head resting on her shoulder and his nose pressed against her neck. She whispered into the top of his bandana that this is just one fight, he can handle it, he has been through worse.

He pushed her gently away from him then, his large hands neatly surrounding her arms as he looked up at her. She considered his eyes. They used to be so bright.

Neither one of them knew who had initiated the kiss that came, or the one who nudged them to the loveseat, or who took off the others clothes first. All she knew was that this felt surprisingly good, and the radiance he had lost had come back to him in that instant. He had become a god. She had made him so.

The frays were beginning to show.

* * *

She stared at the drips coming from the coffeemaker, landing with little effort into the pot. Their affair had been going on for over a year now, and she was finally going to voice breaking it off. Serah had come by a couple of days ago, teary-eyed and distraught, and she couldn't stand to see her sister like that, almost as much as she couldn't stand to see him so beat. She wondered if she should admit to Serah about her infidelity, but that would break her. She had no right to steal her sister's husband, no matter how special he may be.

She heard him walk into the kitchen, his steps nearly silent if it weren't for her training. By the time she turned away from watching the coffeemaker, he was in front of her.

He looked like he was ready to ravage, and the small amount of shame she felt was washed away with heat. Still, she was determined. She had to be.

"We shouldn't do this anymore, Snow."

His arms caged her in, but he made no other move to close in on her. "I agree."

He still hadn't moved, and she couldn't think straight with him this close to her. Leftover raindrops that clung to his hair fell onto her collarbone. He watched the drops disappear under her shirt and she could feel her ears burn. She knew that if she nudged at his chest, he would comply and move away. But as she went to make the movement, the push never materialized. Instead, her hands fisted into the material of his shirt, a bit dampened from the rain going on outside.

Any other words she had to say disappeared when he kissed her. Or maybe she kissed him. Neither one knew and neither one cared. All she knew was that he felt exquisite and she felt as light as air, the way he maneuvered her so easily to the kitchen table, and then she felt breathless.

The coffeemaker signaled its completion. Lightning struck outside. And their seams were frayed beyond repair.

_Fin_


End file.
